


the heartbeating kind

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Season/Series 01-02 Hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9127924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: He’s in a cell, but it’s not the one he remembers. And he’s not alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "I'm gonna need you to calm down" which ... I altered. But as it's from shineyma, I'm sure she'll forgive me.
> 
> Also, a reminder that this takes place between seasons one and two and references Ward's suicide attempts made in that time. None are shown, but they are an unavoidable part of the story. If you're not okay with that, you know where the back button is and I'll catch you next time. If you are, enjoy!

Grant struggles back to wakefulness. He knows this kind of tired. This is the result of drugs. Good ones. He’s been put under. Likely due to the injuries he can feel: one settled in the skin of his chest and another radiating through his skull, deep into his neck and shoulders.

And that’s where things get dangerous because Grant’s also not alone. Gentle hands are carding through his hair with just enough pressure. There’s no way they’re gonna stop the pain, but they provide a pleasurable counterpoint to it. Which is a problem because Grant does not remember what the hell his cover is that some woman would be playing with his hair while he recovers.

He wracks his brain as he pushes through the drugs. If he can get his eyes open, get a read on just where he is, maybe-

“I’ll thank you to remain calm.”

He IDs Simmons’ voice on the first syllable and everything - the uprising, the cell Coulson locked him in, his last-ditch play to gain sympathy by making a third attempt on his own life - comes back in the time it takes his eyes to snap open.

He’s in a cell, but it’s not the one he remembers. And he’s not alone.

Simmons’ hand settles on his chest when he tries to heave himself into a sitting position. Not that he needs it; the second he lifts his head off her thighs the whole room spins and he’s gotta close his eyes again.

“I told you to remain calm,” she says, gently chiding.

It’s too soon for it, but he’s got questions - lots of them - so he opens his eyes up and voices the first of them. “I hit that wall too hard.” Okay, maybe that wasn’t a question; he really did hit it hard, didn’t he?

One of her brows arches sharply. “I thought that was the point.”

He could bite off his own tongue. He doesn’t give a damn what she thinks of him, but there’s no telling who might be listening. “The point was to make it _stop_ ,” he says, “not to make it worse.”

Her head tips to one side and her frown … It’s just so _Simmons_ , exactly the way he’s seen her frown over a hundred problems in the field. It makes his chest ache for the Bus.

She’s stopped touching his head, which means there’s been nothing to ease the ache his poorly thought-out attempt at movement saw spiking, so he settles more comfortably on her lap. Moving him to a new cell - a more traditional one too - was risky. He wouldn’t have woken up here if they weren’t planning on leaving him for a while. He’s got time to rest up before he makes his move.

“Far as hallucinations go though,” he says, letting his eyes slip mostly shut, “I guess you’re not so bad. At least you’re pretty; I could’ve got  _John_.”

Her muscles stiffen beneath him and he should probably worry that all it took was one hit to the head (okay, three) for him to end up with auditory, visual, _and_ physical hallucinations, but he must really be crazy because he’s worried about what’s caused her to tense up.

“Ward,” she says. He’s gotta open his eyes now; that’s the same tone of voice she used all through his exam after Lorelei. “I’m not a hallucination.”

He laughs, which is a very bad decision and his head does not thank him for it. “Yeah,” he says, because he didn’t let Simmons boss him around on the Bus, he’s not letting her boss him around in his own head, “you are. You expect me to believe Coulson would let you anywhere near me when I’m not restrained?” He thinks that over for a beat and then adds, “Or even if I was restrained?”

Her hand curls on his chest, right at the center of the heat still pulsing there. Like his head, her touch eases the hurt. Unlike his head, her touch turns this pain into something very not painful.

“The blows to the head didn’t knock you out - they certainly didn’t help, but they’re not what felled you.”

Her fingers brush bare skin just above the collar of his scrubs. He hisses in a breath. Not pain. Definitely not pain.

“This did.”

She spares him the trouble of looking by pulling down the collar of her own shirt. It’s not one of those ridiculous button-ups she used to wear even in sweltering jungles and dusty deserts, it’s a blouse that was showing off more of her skin than he’d ever seen outside of run-ins outside the bathroom and that time Skye dragged them to the beach. Now it’s low enough he can see the scalloping on the edge of her bra and the dark letters that have been burned into her skin.

He sees his own fingers lift to touch her but doesn’t truly realize he’s doing it until he feels his own name in the soft skin between her breasts and sees her eyes flutter. Her lip does too, just a little. He’s got the crazy urge to try sitting up again so he can make it stop, make her breath catch for even better reasons.

He snatches his hand back. “You’re fucking with me.”

That kind of language, that kind of tone, they’re not in line with his play. They’re angry and mean and not the sort of thing he would’ve used on Simmons even when they met again in Cuba, but he’s _angry_. Of all the low tricks Coulson could’ve pulled, faking a soul mark to use against him is by far the lowest. HYDRA doesn’t even pull that shit. And bringing Simmons into it? He could kill her for fuck’s sake!

She laughs, the sound cutting through his rage like a knife through butter. “Do you honestly think Coulson would have let me anywhere near you for your own sake?”

The way she says it, he knows she’s not talking about a play, she’s talking about the bond.

There are lots of kinds of bonds. Family bonds in blood, friends bond in mind, lovers in body, but soulmates… Every time you meet another person your soul and theirs connect, that’s just the way souls are. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, that connection will wither and fade into nothing. A few will help feed the other bonds in mind or body or blood, but then there’s that _one_. Your bond with your soulmate keeps growing until it hits all three. And when it can’t, when something like physical distance gets in its way?

Grant shifts a little to feel the mark pull at the skin on his chest. Back in the Academy, he heard horror stories about agents in the field when their marks burned into them, poor bastards trapped behind enemy lines and held there until the bond tore them apart from the inside out. First time he woke up in that cell, Coulson said he was leaving him there to rot and this would’ve gotten him his wish … but he won’t do that to Simmons.

Grant’s eyes slide to the bars in the door. There’s a shadow on the wall outside, still as stone but just the right shape to be a person. “Are you why I’m getting the five-star treatment?”

Her lips curl up on one side. He tries to pretend he doesn’t notice. “You are, actually. The walls of your cell are being padded as we speak.”

He nods. At his resulting wince, her hand finds the back of his neck and something like bliss creeps around the edges of the pain.

“And speaking of,” she says, still in that same light tone, “you won’t be doing that again.”

Obviously. He was lucky to get two tries at slashing his own wrists. But hopefully he won’t have to think up a third method; he’s sure by now that the body in the hall isn’t May, which means he can get past them just as soon as he makes it through the door. And, as the only apparent trouble with that is the watchful eye of his apparent soulmate, he can think of plenty of ways to distract her.

A pinch just above his collarbone drags his attention back to her. Her eyes are hard, but there’s fire in them. She is _pissed_.

“I don’t care if you were genuinely attempting to die or simply using it as a play to gain sympathy, it ends now. And you will be giving pertinent intelligence to whoever asks for it.”

“To you,” he counters. Just in case May’s waiting around the next corner, he’s not about to pass up an opportunity to bargain for more time with his soulmate. He manages to sit up as he says it. His stomach protests and his head feels like it might fall right off, but he does it.

Simmons shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Her hand lands on his thigh, steadying him. She fills up the spaces he’s left between them. It could just be the dangerously flimsy bond driving her to shore it up with physical contact, or it could be- “We’ll have to make the most of the time we have here. Right now, Agent 33 is giving HYDRA the impression I have a terrible stomach virus, but that won’t last past the weekend. I’ll need to be back at work in-” she glances at her watch- “sixty-six and a half hours.”

He discovers that he’s gripping her arm. “Work?” he echoes. “ _HYDRA?_ ”

She tips her head again but this time is different. This is the way she did whenever she teased him about the Ops/SciTech rivalry. “I’ve been undercover for the past nine weeks. And I’ll need to return to it.”

He’s so shellshocked, he can barely breathe. She doesn’t help with that at all. If anything, she makes it worse when she presses up against him. Every inch she’s touching feels, somehow, like it’s brand new, like he only just got that arm and that hip and that thigh when her warmth bled into them. He’s having some trouble not falling back onto the bed.

“So you’ll be giving SHIELD all the intel it needs,” she says, lips so damn close. He turns, chases them, but every time he thinks he’s gonna make contact, she moves, damn her. “And you’ll work on getting yourself better. I won’t have a crazed soulmate or a Nazi for one either.” Her hand slides over his thigh, brushing between his legs. “Understood?”

She’s on her knees now, free hand doing that awesome thing in his hair again, and he thinks if he only says yes she’ll hold still long enough he can kiss her. So he does.

Her smile is radiant. He swallows it up and doesn’t think about anything but her again until he hears the sound of an ICER being cocked. But by then it’s too late and he wakes up alone in his old cell, with nothing but a strong, healthy soul bond to show for his latest bid for freedom.

He thinks it might’ve been worth it.

 


End file.
